The language of small things
An observation from the margins, and an invitation to see differently.
A place to begin
At the edge of the familiar, we often find something we had stopped noticing. A doorway. A sentence underlined years ago. The shape of a question that has quietly changed while we were busy doing other things. To return to it is to discover that attention is never quite the same twice.
Looking a little closer
There is a particular kind of patience involved in looking closely. It asks us to resist the first explanation, to stay with what is not yet clear. We begin by naming what we can see. Then we notice what our names have left out. The most useful discovery may be a new question, rather than a final answer.
“Leave a little silence in the day. Something beautiful may arrive without a sound.”
What we carry forward
What matters, perhaps, is the conversation that continues after the page is closed. A thought becomes part of another thought. An observation finds a place in an ordinary afternoon. The reader brings a whole life to these words, and the words leave with a little of that life inside them.
Keep exploring
A window, left open
A closer look at the ideas at the heart of Where the Light Rests.
Read the poemHow a poem finds its ending
Notes on the patient work of asking better questions.
Read the poem